


Honor Thy Mother

by mattzerella_sticks



Series: Family Holidays [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst and Fluff, Canonical Character Death, Cards, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Cute, Cute Castiel, Cute Dean Winchester, Cute Jack, Dean and Castiel are Jack's Parents, Dean crying, Dean is a Softie, Dean is a Sweetheart, Feels, Flowers, Ice Cream, Lawyer Castiel, M/M, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Mother's Day, Teacher Dean Winchester, Toddler Jack, gardner Castiel, graveyards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 01:37:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14660643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: Dean and Castiel Novak live the perfect life with their son, Jack. But as a certain holiday approaches, they need to explain a few things to him, and make up for all the years they missed celebrating it.





	Honor Thy Mother

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really sorry for all the technical difficulties that have come with posting this. I just wanted to get this up for Mother's Day. Hope you like!

            Dean stood by the counter, chopping up celery stalks to place alongside the carrot sticks and cup of hummus on the tray. At the table, little Jack was coloring away in one of his little books, abusing the red crayon – that particular color his favorite for the week. Mary watches him from above the rim of her cup of tea, smiling.

            “Sorry,” Dean says to her, placing the plate nearby Jack, “Usually I have his snacks already made – getting my class ready for Sunday’s really messed with my schedule.”

            “Oh?” Mary asks, smirking, “I take it I’m not _worth_ all that trouble?”

            He stammers, blushing, “Well, I mean – no, it’s just… the _kids_ –“

            “Relax, Dean,” Mary laughs, placing her hand over his, “I’m only kidding.”

            “You and Cas,” Dean sighs, slumping into his seat beside her, “Why you choose to pull this crap when I’m stressed, I’ll never know.”

            “Because messing with you is fun,” Cas answers, trailing into the room. His shirt is sweat-stained and covered in soil. He pulls his hat off and wipes his forehead before leaning down to kiss his husband on the cheek. Dean pushes him away, laughing. “What?” Cas asks, “Is there something on my face?” He scratches at one of the many spots of dirt that are stuck to his face.

            “Go wash up,” Dean tells him, “I can’t serve you lunch when you look like Pig Pen.”

            “Now Dean,” Cas starts, gums peeking out from how wide he’s grinning, “I thought you liked it when I get ‘ _dirty_ ’?”

            “Cas!” Dean hisses, “Not in front of Jack.”

            “Oh ease up, Dean,” Mary laughs alongside her son-in-law, “Jack won’t remember any of that. I remember some of the conversations your father and I would have when you were four and in the same room…”

            “Mom!”

            “I’ll go wash up,” Cas relents, having his fill of a red-faced Dean, “What’s for lunch anyway?”

            “Sandwiches,” Dean says, “You want chips on the side or…?”

            “I’ll just take some of these right here,” Cas grabs a carrot stick, disturbing Jack’s coloring, and chomps away, “Not like anyone’s _eating_ them –“

            “Papa!” Jack cries, tiny hands reaching up to the carrot nub in Cas’s, “Papa, that was mine!”

            “Was it?” Cas asks, feigning innocence, “But you weren’t eating it?”

            “So…”

            “So what?”

            “You still need to ask,” Jack says, reciting from memory, “Just because no one’s using it, doesn’t mean that no one will miss it if it’s gone.”

            “Very good, Jack,” Cas praises him, little boy preening under it, “Where’d you learn that from?”

            Jack turns to Dean, “From Daddy.” His heart melts at the little kid’s grin, and he has to reign in the tears threatening to stream down his face. No one would have believed the effect fatherhood would have had on Dean, and if anyone told him – at twenty-one, fresh out of college with nothing but a sleek, black Impala ’67 and a whole lot of attitude – that he’d become such a softie, that Dean would have laughed in their face before drinking them under the table. But here he is, playing hold on with his emotions, the tricky things treating him like ol’ Larry the mechanical bull down at the Roadhouse.

            “So,” Cas continues, drawing their son’s attention away from Dean before he implodes, “May I finish off this carrot?”

            “Hmm…” the little boy places a thumb to his chin and looks over to the refrigerator. After a short while, he bounces back, crowing, “Okay!”

            “Thank you, my little angel,” Cas smiles, while dropping a soft kiss onto the boy’s crown. Jack giggles, squirming away.

            “Papa you’re dirty!”

            “Fine, fine,” he sighs, chewing around the rest of the snack, “If this is the thanks I get for weeding the garden once more, maybe I won’t do it?”

            “Stop your posturing and just get in the shower,” Dean says, rolling his eyes, “We all know you’d never do that. What would the neighbors think if they see our ‘ _prize-winning marigolds_ ’ besotted by weeds on all sides?”

            Cas frowns, glaring at his husband – the same man trading knowing smirks with his mother. The Novaks have won ‘Best Yard & Garden’ every year from the Homeowner’s Association ever since they moved into the neighborhood. Dean’s job was easy – maintaining the perfect lawn. But Cas owned the real green thumb between them, and used it to keep their flowers lush from the first day of spring to the final day in fall. It was always joked that if Cas ever decided to quit his firm, their home would become a greenhouse.

            “Fine,” Cas calls out, heading towards the shower, “I know when I’m not wanted!”

            Dean snickers, watching his husband’s backside until he disappears around the corner. Turning back around to face his mother, he sees her doing the same thing.

            “What?” she asks, “I’m old, not dead.”

            He groans, face disappearing behind his hands. Mary laughs at her son’s misfortune, while Jack gazes at both of them, chomping down on hummus-dipped celery.

            “So, speaking of _marigolds_ ,” Mary continues, “What have you got your kids doing for Sunday?”

            The welcome change in conversation parts the clouds covering Dean’s smile, and he thinks back to all the fun he and the twenty-other third graders he watches over. “Well, I wanted to try something a little different – y’know, more than the simple card other teachers make their kids do, so I helped ‘em write little poems for their moms, and we made bouquets of lilies out of tissue and construction paper.”

            “That is ambitious,” Mary says, brow cocked, “I’m guessing not everything went smoothly?”

            “Not at _all_ ,” he laughs, “Krissy managed to get glue in her hair… Mick almost had a fit because the petals weren’t ‘ _just right_ ’… oh, and – this is great – I had to re-write Fergus’s poem just before he went home with it.”

            “Why?”

            “Because out of all the words he could find to rhyme with ‘witch’,” Dean tells her, “He managed to pick the worst one.”

            “Ouch,” Mary says, taking another sip of her tea, “Doesn’t he know you’re supposed to be _nice_ to your mother on ‘Mother’s Day’?”

            “What’s Mother’s Day?”

            Dean and Mary glance over to Jack, smiling, hands folded in front of him. Mother looks to son, to see his eyes had widened and the earlier mirth has been drained from his face.

            “Oh… um,” he looks to her, words suddenly turned to mush inside his head. Jack wasn’t supposed to be asking this question now. Both he and Cas knew the holiday would have to be reckoned with at some point, but figured they could wait until their boy was already in school.

            “It’s a special day, Jack,” Mary takes over, teaching instincts firing up even after years of retirement, “Where nice boys and girls do good things for their mommy’s. Cards, flowers, breakfast in bed… it’s about showing how much you care and appreciate her for all that she’s done for you in the previous year.”

            “So Daddy and Papa celebrate it?” Jack asks.

            “Ye – yes,” Dean starts, regaining control of his thoughts, “Every year your Uncle Sammy and I take Ma out for brunch, and Papa video-chats with his mom and watches her open her gifts.”

            “Oh, okay,” Jack says, reaching for the few remaining snacks on the plate. Dean’s anxiety drops, the fear of discussing tomorrow free to plummet into nothingness. But his son doesn’t know when to quit, and breaths new life into Dean’s oncoming heart attack.

            “What about my Mommy?”

            The record within Dean’s head scratches, and the word ‘mommy’ skips over and over again as he and Jack lock eyes. Mary shifts her gaze from between the two every few seconds. The younger boy chews and swallows calmly; ignorant to the drama he’s shaken up.

            “Mom… mommy?”

            “Yeah,” Jack shrugs, “mommy.”

            Dean runs a hand through his hair, huffing deeply from his nose. Kelly was always a sore subject – Jack’s mother a dear friend to both of them. When she became pregnant with Cas’s brother’s child, she immediately asked for their help. Dean was a little wary, not planning on having kids so soon into their marriage. But Cas was already planning a nursery once Kelly came to them.

            If only she had been around to see it…

            “We, uh…” Dean mumbles, looking down at his fidgeting hands, “We don’t… don’t do anything for your mommy.”

            “Well that’s not nice,” Jack frowns, “Doesn’t she feel left out?”

            “She –“

            “I don’t want mommy to feel sad,” he sniffles, tears starting to form, “Nana Mary says good boys show how much they love their mommies… am I not a good boy? I love her, I really, really do!” He starts sobbing, little waterfalls trailing down his cheeks. Dean jumps from his seat, circling the table until his boy is wrapped tight in his arms. He rocks them both back and forth, shushing Jack.

            “No, no Jack, that’s not it at all,” Dean starts, “Mommy knows you love her, and loves _you_ very much – you wouldn’t be here if she didn’t. It’s just… Papa and I were silly geese – _we_ forgot. You’re still the best boy in the world!”

            “I wanna,” he hiccups, “I wanna do something for mommy!”

            “We will Jack, we will,” Dean promises, “Anything you want. We’ll do it.”

            His son quiets down after that, little fists balled tight around Dean’s shirt. Mary watches them, eyes misting up at the sight.

            “Why don’t we take a nap,” Dean says, picking him up, “And when you wake up, we can work on something _extra special_ for you to do for Mother’s Day? Would you like that bud?”

            “Y – yeah…”

            “Great,” Dean smiles at him, “You’re such a thoughtful little guy…” he peppers kisses all over Jack’s face, “I wonder where you get that from?”

            “Daddy, stop it!” Jack shrilly cries, dissolving into a fit of laughter. He might not be a Winchester by blood, but Dean’s son has the family trait of not knowing how to handle affection – and like his father squirms under the attention.

            “Ma,” he swings around to her, “Can you start on the sandwiches while I tuck this little guy in?” She nods, and gets up while Dean starts moving down the hall. He’s passing by the bathroom just as Cas walks out in nothing but a towel, hanging loosely around his hips.

            He quirks a brow at the two of them, and Dean shoots him a look to clue him in that a discussion will be had. Cas nods, and lets his husband move forward into their son’s room. Jack practically jumps onto the bed, tugging his dinosaur sheets around his body. Terra, his stuffed pterodactyl, nearly falls off her perch in all the excitement, but Dean grabs it at the last second and hands it to Jack. He hugs her, and snuggles his head into the pillow.

            “Do you want a story?” Dean asks, petting Jack’s hair. The little boy yawns, shaking his head ‘no’. Dean smiles and leaves him with a final kiss to the forehead, walking out of the room.

            ‘ _What have we gotten ourselves into?_ ’

* * *

             Dean takes a look at the sky, frowning at the grey clouds blanketing the blue from sight. He turns towards Cas, the other man pulling Jack from his car seat. “Did you bring an umbrella?” he asks.

            “I think I left one in the trunk from when we went picnicking two weekends ago,” Cas tells him, “I don’t think it’ll rain, it just said overcast for today.”

            “You say that now,” Dean smirks, sidling next to them, “But you’ll be the one doing the wash when Jack inevitably jumps in mud.”

            “Well it is Mother’s Day…”

            “If you weren’t holding Jack, I’d smack you.”

            “You wouldn’t.”

            “Try me.”

            They make their way through the rows of tombstones; Jack nestled tight within Cas’s hold. He has a few flowers from their garden and a card Dean helped him make the other day. The trio find Kelly’s tombstone easily, the smooth granite at the edge of a row. Cas lets Jack out of his grip, and he walks forward.

            “Hi mommy,” Jack says, “I made this for you. Well… not the flowers, but the card. Look –“ he opens it up, where four stick figures are drawn in red crayon. “This is me, Daddy and Papa. And this one,” he points to the one figure, near the card’s corner, sitting on a cloud, “It’s you! Papa told me that you’re always watching me from up on your cloud, so I wanted it to be accu – accaca – Accura!” Dean stifles a giggle with his husband’s shoulder, each fighting back tears pooling around the edges. “I’m sorry I missed all a’the other Mother’s Days, but Daddy told me you understoods. And get this: I can still come next weekend like I always do every month! Papa said that it’s an extra treat for the both of us!” Jack places the flowers and the card on the ground, “I love you lots mommy, and Daddy and Papa want me to tell you they’re sorry for not bringin’ me round on Mother’s Day. But they’re making it up to me – and we’re going for ice cream later! And I get to have two cones: one for you and one for me! Papa says that where you are there’s tons of ice cream, and no chance at getting brain freezies. Which is good, because whenever I eat ice cream I always do it too fast, and my head starts hurtin’.” Jack reaches forward, hugging the gravestone fiercely. “Hope your cone is never empty!”

            ‘ _Hold it together, Dean_ ,’ he thinks, shoulders shaking from how hard he’s crying, ‘ _You’re such a sap… what happened to the Single Man Tear?_ ’

            Jack walks back towards them, head tilting at their expressions.

            “What’s wrong?” he asks, “Did I… did I not do it right?”

            “You did it perfectly, Jack,” Cas leans down, squeezing him into his own hug, “Your Daddy and I are so very proud of you, right Dean?”

            “Yeah,” Dean coughs, wiping away the tears with the back of his hand, “So proud of you.” Cas picks Jack up again, and he presses a wet kiss to Jack’s forehead, to his delight.

            “To ice cream!” Jack giggles, pointing back to where Baby is parked. The three begin their trek back to the car, the youngest member of the group chattering non-stop about all the different flavors he could get.

            “Are you sure Mary doesn’t want us to stop by for brunch?” Cas whispers to Dean.

            “Nah,” he tells him, “She wants us to have the whole day with him – spending today with Sam and his family. Besides, if we don’t get him his ice cream he might explode.”

            “Still,” Cas starts, glancing back at the graveyard, “There’s one more stop we can make before we leave…”

            “Maybe another time,” Dean says, squeezing at Cas’s bicep, “It’s Mother’s Day… dad’ll understand.” His husband nods, and goes about buckling Jack into his car seat. Dean opens the car door, but doesn’t get in. He leans across the hood, resting his head on his arms, peering down the rows of tombstones.

            ‘ _Maybe Father’s Day_ …’

            “Daddy!” Jack whines, “It’s gonna melt if we don’t get there!”

            He smiles, finally getting in. “No it won’t buddy,” he says, starting the engine, “Trust me.” They pull out, and head towards their next destination – each feeling lighter under the watchful gaze of a mother and friend from high above.

**Author's Note:**

> Did ya like? Did ya feel? Did I play your heart like a fiddle?
> 
> Tell me with a kudos or a comment!


End file.
